


In Truth

by antheiasilva



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Crack Treated Seriously, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, M/M, Mission Fic, Mutual Pining, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Pining, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Sort of an ancient greece AU, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24494359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheiasilva/pseuds/antheiasilva
Summary: Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi finds himself paired with his former master to conduct a treaty renewal on the lush planet of Ellenia, where an ancient festival threatens to bring long buried truths to light.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 83
Kudos: 159
Collections: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan May the Fourth be With You Prompt Meme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pomiar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomiar/gifts), [Chibiobiwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiobiwan/gifts).



> Brought to you by the excellent prompt by Pomiar!
> 
> "On a diplomatic mission Qui-Gon is given a drink which in humanoids makes them tell the truth and only the truth for up to 24 hours, Obi-Wan is having waaay too much fun and Qui-Gon is getting desperate in thinking of ways to save himself from spilling his beans. It's all fun and well until the topic of love comes up"
> 
> And the wise suggestion of Chibiobiwan when I couldn't chose a prompt.
> 
> I swear there's more coming! Alas, the deadline and I could not come to terms.

_For the love of the Force, another one?_ Obi-Wan thought to himself sourly as he watched the elegant Atikan archon, a striking middle aged woman with dark curls and green eyes, stare at Qui-Gon from across the polished wood conference table and bite her lip. Evidently, Qui-Gon was the height of beauty on Ellenia. In the past ten-day, he’d watched dignitaries, politicians, diplomatic aides, servers, interns and members of the general public trip over themselves, sigh, smile, wink, dally with inane conversation and make what Quinlan would have called “fuck me eyes” at his former master. 

Qui-Gon himself was completely unfazed. It was as if the infuriating man had no idea of his effect on beings of all genders on this planet. 

And on Carlac, Ringo Vinda, Parmethe and at least half a dozen other worlds scattered across the Mid Rim and Core. 

Obi-Wan remembered several similar such incidents in his later padawan years, when he'd been old enough to wise to various humanoid, and sometimes non-humanoid, expressions of interest.

As a padawan, Obi-Wan had found it both fascinating and amusing—a rich source of mutually affectionate teasing that had been the hallmark of their relationship in those days, and perhaps more sarcasm that he was entirely willing to admit.

Now, however, he found the interest in his former master to be, well, _annoying_. Obi-Wan didn’t need any more reminders of how attractive Qui-Gon was. He’d been suffering over that particular fact since Garen had kissed him after his knighting ceremony five years ago and he’d had the startling realization that his heart steadfastly belonged to another.

“Master Jedi,” the obviously smitten archon began, interrupting Qui-Gon’s detailed review of the treaty amendments from the previous session, “perhaps we could move on to this afternoon’s negotiations. The opening reception for the festival of Aletheia begins in a scant six hours and we must have the revisions settled by then.”

“I see, Archon Ianthe,” Qui-Gon rumbled, looking up from his notes. “I understand the festival is important to both the Aktikans and the Lacedeons. Well, as long as there are no objections, we can certainly proceed.”

Ianthe looked anxiously at the other thirteen members of the treaty renewal conference as she called for a motion to skip ahead on the agenda. From the ornate mosaic floor to the colourful coffered ceiling, an air of restlessness suffused the room of beleaguered officials. The senators and youth caucus representatives from both sides raised hands in unanimous approval and the Lacedeon archon, Aristeus, a tall, bearded man with hair the colour of aged honey who had been more circumspect in his admiration of Qui-Gon, gave a relieved nod.

 _Good,_ Obi-Wan thought, _they can bond over Qui-Gon’s prettiness, and his sometimes pedantic devotion to detail._ Obi-Wan stifled a yawn and took a sip of his tepid and overly bitter caff. His eyes swam as he studied the notes on his datapad. A party was an excellent incentive to work collaboratively and maybe even, force forbid, end _early_.

Three hours later, Obi-Wan’s eyes were burning and his throat was dry from talking. The youth caucus members on both sides had been relentless in their demands for increased taxes and wealth redistribution across national lines, and the archons and their senators had finally relented, promising a graduated increase over the next ten years. Several new compromises were now enshrined in the penultimate draft of the treaty renewal. The final document would be signed into law after the thirty six hour festival had concluded. 

The Aletheria, as Obi-Wan had learned during his studious review en route to the Mid Rim system, was a festival for the ancient goddess of truth, Aletheia. She was now little more than a watered down allegory, along with the rest of the Ellenian pantheon, but unlike many of the demoted deities, she had a festival common to the Atikans and Lacedeons alike. Obi-Wan had often observed that however outwardly secular a society, mythic underpinnings of culture, particularly those with excuses for revelry, tended to be tenacious. In this, the Ellenians were not unusual and so Aletheia's festival was still celebrated each year on the brink of summer with a tart wine made from small red berries that ripened during the winter rains, and were harvested at the equinox.

The festival promised to be like many others across the galaxy, marked by special food, alcohol, dancing and loosening of social restrictions. In this case, celebrants were meant to honour the goddess by drinking the aletheros, the berry wine, and expressing truth to each other. Naturally, this, along with the turn from spring into summer, led to numerous...liaisons. This year, both nations were celebrating together, and not only in the planetary capital, Ellenia City, but all along the border as well. For the past few days, celebrants had been journeying from their farms and mountain homesteads to converge in the settlements that dotted up and down the Delphic, a vast but rambling river that marked the border between Atika and Lacedeo as it wound its way down from the Parnassan mountain range, across rich lowlands, and finally into the Aegin ocean through the estuary on Ellenia City’s northern border.

The treaty renewal had been planned around the festival so that each side could be assured of the other’s sincerity and integrity. While it was possible that clauses would have to be changed or additions and deletions made after the thirty six hour celebration, both the Lacedeons and Atikans seemed ready to accept whatever adjustments might emerge as a result of Aletheria. 

What Obi-Wan didn’t know—nor Qui-Gon neither—was that despite the Ellenians’ excellent grasp of Basic, and the conscientiously supplied histories, cultural briefings, ethnographies and archeological reports, somehow the precise nuance of “truth”—the literal effect of the aletheros—had remained untranslated. The goddess, however long dead, apparently had an enduring sense of humour, which, like all gifts from the gods, was as apt to sting as to nourish.

***

“You’re in a sour mood, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon observed when they’d returned to their quarters for a brief respite before joining the celebration. 

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan looked up from where he’d collapsed onto the divan in the common room of their guest suite, an airy set of rooms in the western corner of the sprawling colonnaded palace-turned-political-complex. 

“Your mood. It’s worse than the conference caff,” Qui-Gon teased, as he opened the back doors that overlooked a small private garden of dry subtropical trees and flowering plants. A light breeze brought a faint floral scent into the room. The oleanders were especially pungent in the late afternoon sunlight. Qui-Gon had taken to meditating just inside the open doors each evening. He said it gave him perspective. Obi-Wan suspected he liked the feel of being outside with the indoor comforts of shade and a rather spongy rug. 

“I’m just tired, I think,” Obi-Wan replied absently. He had begun trying to kick his boots off without sitting up. 

“It has been a gruelling week, to be sure,” Qui-Gon agreed as he settled himself barefoot and cross-legged on the plush carpet of blue and cream. He’d let his hair down and was wearing only his undertunic, so thin and threadbare it was nearly sheer. It occurred to Obi-Wan that the tunic was very likely older than he was and that was a sobering counterpoint to his rising appreciation of the finely honed muscles of Qui-Gon’s back and shoulders.

Force, get a hold of yourself, Kenobi, Obi-Wan thought to himself as his left boot finally came free. He let it slip to the floor and began working on the right.

“I would have hoped thirty years of peace would have had a deeper impact on social development,” Obi-Wan said. “I get the sense that a faction of the younger generation is ready to resume old quarrels if economic stability does not improve.”

“Ancient quarrels, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon corrected. “Thirty years is not such a long time, especially considering how much they had to rebuild. “

“I suppose,” Obi=Wan deferred, vaguely aware that thirty years was only slightly longer than his entire life. He dropped his right boot beside its partner and wiggled his toes with satisfaction as they met the air. Ellenia’s late spring was warmer than anticipated. 

“The archons and their officials are old enough to remember the last war, but their children were raised in peace and appear to have tied their healthy need to distinguish themselves as adults to their political outrage.”

“That’s a rather simplistic interpretation, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan countered, irritated at Qui-Gon’s benevolent condescension. “There are very real gaps and failures in social integration that the ruling parties of both the Atikans and Lacedeons need to address. One could take the view that they are holding their elders to account.”

Qui-Gon hmmmed as he shuffled to a more comfortable seat. “Fair enough. Still, I feel they are in need of more...perspective. Conflict can erupt and escalate more quickly than I fear they are aware. Righteous indignation does not translate into praxis so easily.”

“Neither does stagnation that masquerades as stability. One could argue that the ruling generation is in need of more hope for change.”

“Wise words, Obi-Wan. Though I do not yet know if they fit the situation here, or how they might best be applied. Come, meditate with me,” Qui-Gon said, patting the spot beside him.

It was a familiar but irksome swing for Qui-Gon: one minute rooted in the here-and-now, Living Force, the next attending to “perspective.” Sometimes Obi-Wan felt like he just couldn’t say the right thing. 

_Is he ever going to let me grow up?_ Obi-Wan wondered with a pang. 

“No, thank you,” Obi-Wan said as evenly as he could. “I’m going to take a walk.”

Qui-Gon gave a tiny, almost imperceptible, flinch at his refusal, which Obi-Wan automatically filed away somewhere between “wishful thinking” and “probably just imagined it.”

“Very well, I’ll see you at the festival. Don’t forget to wear the traditional chiton that the Ianthe supplied.” 

“Of course,” Obi-Wan answered, swallowing his impulse to add ‘master’ as he levered himself up and off the couch. The grey tile was surprisingly cool under his bare feet, making the growing heat of the afternoon suddenly suffocating. He unhooked his belt and peeled off his outer tunics down to his undershirt; it wasn’t until he could feel air on his skin that he could breathe again. 

He should have more patience with himself, and with Qui-Gon, he thought, depositing his boots and his tunics, neatly folded, in his bedchamber. This was, after all, only their third mission together since Naboo, and as much as both of them were trying, an awkwardness hung in the air like the sickly-sweet smell of fruit left too long in the sun. Feeling vaguely guilty, he wished Qui-Gon a good meditation as he slipped on a pair of stiff leather guest sandals and ducked past him into the garden.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Tohje and acatbyanyanothername for their keen observations and encouragement!

He needed it more than he wanted to admit, the blessed solitude he found under Ellenia’s sun as he meandered through the landscaped gardens of sturdy, gnarled trees with waxy green leaves and flowering bushes. The twittering of birdsong and hum of insects was a welcome respite from posturing pronouncements and rhetorical tricks. Several curious rodents approached him cautiously on the pebbled foot path before scurrying away into the patches of ornamental grass or up tree trunks.

The strain of the last few days weighed heavily on Obi-Wan, even though the negotiations had been successful. If he were honest with himself, it wasn't the mission that was the issue but the stress of constant proximity and distance with his former master. His master's presence used to bring him peace, a quiet, steady comfort through everything from blaster fire and crashing ships to lonely nights mourning the dead. But now Qui-Gon's nearness could be excruciating. He didn't remember Onderan or Boz Pity being _this_ painful or exhausting. It was as if his feelings were getting stronger, or he was getting worse at tuning them out. Qui-Gon's presence was indelible, no matter how much space he kept between them or how many doors he closed.

He made his way down carved stone steps to the beach. Here the golden rock face that cradled the palace met a short expanse of earth dotted with low scrub brush and stubborn trees before giving way to white sand and azure waves. 

Obi-Wan slipped off the sandals and his undershirt and stowed them under an obliging olive tree. The sand was burning hot, until it wasn’t. He savoured the damp grey sand and the smell of saltwater and seaweed as he examined little bits of shell peeking out from where the tide had exposed their shiny variegated surfaces. Some were intact, with wriggling pink centres he could only sense in the Force, some cracked and scrubbed clean. He rolled up his leggings past his knees and stepped into the surf, letting the foamy water swirl around ankles and sink his toes lower and lower until his feet were nestled like the clam shells. It was snug and soothing and he felt his shoulders release and his breath drop deeper into his gut.

Absurdly, he missed Qui-Gon, and pictured his former master beside him, bare chested in the sinking sun, eyes as blue as the horizon. 

He wanted nothing more than to reach for that expense of skin, kiss salt from goosebumps and pebbled flesh and twist his hands into silky, grey-streaked locks. 

Grief for what could never be weighed him down like a boulder, pressing him toward the sand and waves, even as desire coursed through him like electricity, driving him upwards into a desperate need to move, to touch himself, half hard already from his reverie. He doubled over, hugged his own sides in the absence of another’s touch, and plunged himself deeper into the waves to let the cold water take care of his arousal.

If only he could not feel, if only he could let go of his desire, of his dream of Qui-Gon above him, inside him, of sating an ancient longing to curl around Qui-Gon’s magnificent frame and kiss the smile so soft it made his heart ache.

He waded out further, to where the evening tide swelled waves to chest height. He turned his face to the horizon and let the waves break against him with satisfying force. He could imagine screaming his frustration into the roar of the surf, but instead he gave his anger to the ocean by wrestling the waves with heels planted and arms braced, eager for the raw power of something so much bigger than him to pound and scrub him out til he was empty of his own burning salt water and throbbing tension.

When Obi-Wan stepped at last from the water, wrung out and shaking from the cold, the sun had begun to slip below the horizon and the cicadas had started chirping their sonorous evening melody. Dusk in the Ellenian palatial gardens was purple light and floral breezes and twinkling flames of oil lamps in burnished copper stands. 

He made his way back to his room, showered, shaved and dressed quickly in the festive clothing: a russet silk chiton embellished with copper leaf trim, tied around the waist with a matching belt. Two ornate bronze fibulae fastened the chiton at the shoulders and secured a short cloth-of-gold cape. There were also burnished copper arm bracers, and leather sandals with woven bronze straps that fastened halfway up his calf and a crown of gilded aletheros leaves, complete with decorative red berries made of dyed pearls.

He was grateful that Qui-Gon had already left because he was quite certain he had never been so richly dressed in all his life, and he felt more than a little ridiculous as he looked in the fresher mirror and tried to determine if there were any way he could wear the ensemble so as to be less ostentatious. 

Force, what would Qui-Gon be wearing?

 _Breathe_ he told himself. _You have been through far worse than this. And you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. This isn’t your festival. And besides, silence can also be truthful._

With a stab of alarm, he realized he didn’t have time to worry about his appearance or Qui-Gon’s because the chronometer was telling him he was already half an hour late. Guilt snapped at his heels as he hurried through the maze of the palace, down marble hallways, through several open air porticos and rotundas with towering sculptures dressed in much the same raiment that he was wearing—and struggling to keep from sliding off his body in one way or another. 

When he reached the festival area, a large colonnaded outdoor plaza that overlooked the ocean, it was clear that the party was underway. There must have been hundreds of attendees, all dressed in colourful flowing garments and adorned with floral crowns. Long tables of food and drink had been set up between the columns decorated with garlands. An elaborate multi-pool fountain sat in the centre and was lit up from underwater, causing the light to bounce irregularly off the diorama of mythological sculptures that poured the turquoise liquid. The chatter of the crowds drowned out the pipe and harp music as brightly dressed attendants passed shiny cups on silver trays. 

He had been to lavish parties on many worlds, including opulent galas on Coruscant and Canto Bight, but there was something about the scene before him that felt different. He recognized it as the buoyancy of hope, no doubt the result of the unburdening of social convention combined with what had felt like a sincere commitment to a peaceful future. He stood there awestruck for a moment, watching the swirl of bodies against the purple and orange streaked sunset.

“Master Jedi? There you are! Master Jinn has been looking for you,” Aristeus said, coming up behind him. A handsome man in his mid-fifties with an aquiline nose and close-cropped beard, he had been a general before he retired to politics. He was dressed in dark green and gold with a golden laurel crown, skin flushed from the heat. With his hair down, Obi-Wan realized he bore an alarming resemblance to Qui-Gon.

"Yes, apologies for my absence, Archon,” Obi-Wan replied. “ I wish I could say it was for an important reason, but unfortunately I simply lost track of time by the ocean."

"Then I shall be flattered that the beauty of Ellenia caused a Jedi to forget himself, however momentarily." He smiled disarmingly. "And I see you do not need to drink the aletheros to tell the truth, young Jedi! If only more men were like you. And please, call me Aristeus. The goddess abhors such formalities during her sacred time."

Obi-Wan nodded. "If you will call me, Obi-Wan."

"I would be honoured. Now, let me show you the trick to trying these troublesome things!" And Aristeus dropped to one knee to re-tie Obi-Wan's sliding sandal straps. He was practiced and professional—his touch did not linger—but Obi-Wan still felt heat rising in his cheeks with every brush of his fingertips. 

"There! Much better! Now you'll be able to dance," Aristeus said with a smile, before guiding Obi-Wan into the crowd with a gentle hand on his lower back. The contact was strangely comforting. 

Aristeus navigated them through the crowd until they came to a circle of familiar officials that had clustered by one of the tables, whereupon he pressed a fresh goblet of aletheros into Obi-Wan's hand and clinked his own cup against the rim.

His blue-gray eyes softened in wonder as he looked Obi-Wan up and down. 

"You look like the god of wine himself," he proclaimed, before drinking deeply from the silver cup.

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. He had no idea how to respond to that.

Beside him, Senator Kassandra started laughing. She was an older woman in a violet gown, with long gray hair braided into an elaborate arrangement on top of her head. Obi-Wan had learned throughout the negotiations that she spoke her mind without reservation, and took particular pleasure in outmaneuvering her younger male colleagues.

"Don't embarrass the poor man, Aristeus. Can't you see this upstanding young Jedi is nothing like Dionysus, who lures men and women to his bed with promises of bliss." Her suggestive wink substantially undercut her conviction. 

Aristeus tsked. "I think you’re seeing only the surface. He has hidden depths, don’t you Obi-Wan?" 

Kassandra raised her eyebrows at the use of Obi-Wan's given name. Obi-Wan managed a non-committal hmmm and blinked again.

"Perhaps we will perhaps see a different side of you tonight!" Aristeus said hopefully. 

“Undoubtedly,” Obi-Wan agreed and deflected in a single word, chafing under the other man’s dark gaze. Perhaps he’d misinterpreted Aristeus’ interest in Qui-Gon because he very much seemed to be flirting with him tonight. Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that, but he wasn’t as repelled as he might have expected. 

“Drink!” Aristeus laughed, waving at Obi-Wan’s cup.

“All in good time, Archon Aristeus. I should confer with Qui-Gon on a small matter first.”

Aristeus snorted. “I think you’ll find he’s much too busy at the moment.” He pointed toward the fountain.

Obi-Wan looked over to see Qui-Gon leaning against the marble lip of the fountain, and Ianthe reaching up to replace a white oleander that had fallen from Qui-Gon’s crown. She was smiling and laughing, and Qui-Gon’s hand met hers as she tucked the flower back in place.

“He looks like Poseidon himself, does he not?” Aristeus commented approvingly. “Ianthe has always had exquisite taste.”

“I, uh….” Obi-Wan was speechless as he took in the sight of Qui-Gon in cobalt blue and silver with white oleander flowers in a crown around his head. The chiton, which reached almost to Obi-Wan’s ankles, hung just below the knee on Qui-Gon. He did look exquisite, like a figure out of legend, an ancient power who could control the ocean tides and ruled over hidden depths— with his adoring attendants of both marble and flesh: there had to be at least a half dozen women surrounding him, and a few young men. 

He fought lust and jealousy and creeping despair as he saw Qui-Gon give Ianthe a teasing half-smile. 

“I’ve always wondered about Jedi celibacy. Will you enlighten us, Knight Kenobi? You are allowed…pleasure, are you not?” Kassandra asked.

Obi-Wan coughed and tore his gaze away from Qui-Gon. He hated when this question came up. “We are. It is a delicate matter, when we are involved in aid, or negotiations. We have to remain non-partisan. A...liaison… cannot jeopardize the mission, nor continue past a transitory encounter.” 

“Ah, yes, the doctrine of attachment,” Aristeus said. His brows furrowed in concern as he met Obi-Wan’s eyes, and he gave a small knowing sigh. “It seems a lonely way to live.”

His gaze was so full of compassion that Obi-Wan had to look away, at once eschewing his intrusive care and weathering a flare of embarrassment at being seen so clearly. If there was one word he could use to describe his experience of knighthood so far, it would be “lonely,” lonely for Qui-Gon, lonely for Garen and Bant and Siri, and even Quinlan, lonely for the reassuring thrum of generations of Jedi living and growing and learning together, sheltered in their great cavernous home. He bore it with as much dignity he could. It was, after all, pain without solution.

“There are some things that can only strengthen understanding and cooperation,” Kassandra intoned. “It’s harder to trust the aloof.”

Obi-Wan ignored the not-so-subtle jab at the Jedi’s galactic reputation. “Perhaps then it would make more sense for the Atikans and Lacedeons to... liaise,” he ventured, fighting the blush rising in his cheeks.

“The goddess of truth speaks through you. Yes, we will see much of that tonight, I think,” Aristeus said with a smirk. 

“But you are part of this peace process. It would be a shame if you held yourself back, as I sense you tend to do. It is good to see you and Qui-Gon freed from your heavy cloaks,” Kassandra added.

“Um. Thank you,” Obi-Wan replied. “This fabric is much finer than our usual wear, and very well suited to the climate, I must say.”

“And it is beautiful,” Aristeus added. Something about the way he said it made Obi-Wan think he wasn’t talking about his clothing. 

“Yes, that too,” Obi-Wan nodded, and finally took a sip of his drink out of sheer desire to avoid speaking any further. The wine was tart and a little fizzy, with a flavour that reminded him a little of gooseberries.

“Knight Kenobi,” Kassandra began, placing a bejewelled hand on his shoulder and turning him towards a cushioned bench facing the fountain. “I’ve been wanting to ask you about our mutual acquaintance, Republic Senator Amidala.” She sat down and beckoned for him to sit as well. “We met at a medical aid congress last year and I must say, she is quite a spitfire. How is her first term on Coruscant going?”

“Very well, I think,” Obi-Wan said, relieved at the change in topic. He settled himself on the bench beside her and tried not to look at Qui-Gon. “I haven’t seen her in some time, but by all accounts she is settling in well. Bail Organa is mentoring her, I believe.”

“Goodness! Bail Organa. I haven’t seen him in almost a decade. What a lovely and generous man. I spend three weeks on Alderaan two summers ago and I have never been so pampered in all my life. His wife Breha is a dear. Have you met her?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Well, you absolutely must, next time you’re on Alderaan.”

“I will do my best, Senator.”

“Such a nice and earnest young man. I must say, I haven’t met very many Jedi, but I think you’re my favourite. Have you met my granddaughter, Phoebe? She gave a presentation on water conservation several days ago. “

“Yes, I remember, but no, we didn’t have a chance to speak.”

“Well, we must fix that, musn’t we? Phoebe dear!” She waved over a young woman a few years younger than Obi-Wan with aqua-streaked chestnut curls in a teal dress. Obi-Wan recognized her from her quite cogent and well-researched presentation. Well, there were worse things than talking about conservation initiatives and ecological protection. He relaxed a bit and took another sip of the aletheros as Phoebe joined them and promptly launched into her case for water filtration systems in the more arid regions east of the Delphic, much to her grandmother’s dismay. 

He wasn’t sure how long he and Phoebe spent discussing water technology, comparative biome preservation and knowledge exchange between Class B planets in the Mid Rim, but the time passed pleasantly enough. Phoebe was smart and witty, if somewhat intense. He would have to remember to introduce her to Padme Amidala. He had a sense they would get along well. Best of all, she was completely uninterested in flirting. 

“Grandmother seems to forget I have a girlfriend, no matter how many times I tell her, “ she said, popping a delicate filo pastry rose in her mouth. 

Obi-Wan smiled. “Sometimes our elders just don’t listen.”

“Or see,” she added. “I mean, she’s met Chara half a dozen times. I’m tired of her social respectability games. Life is too short. You gotta be with who you love, right?”

“I would tend to agree,” Obi-Wan said heavily, sneaking a glance at Qui-Gon, who was still hemmed in by his entourage and animatedly telling a story. He was flushed and grinning and Ianthe had managed to sit herself beside him on the fountain ledge.

Phoebe gave him a knowing smile. “He’s gorgeous. Are you two…?”

“No! Nothing like that,” he said, a little too quickly. 

“Sure,” she smirked. “Listen, grandma says Ianthe is hella persistent so if you want to—”

“I don’t!” Obi-Wan interrupted, standing up. “I’m sorry Phoebe, I—”

“Wait! You’re lying!” she exclaimed, eyes wide with delight.

“I’m...what?” he said, flustered.

“That shouldn’t be possible. You’ve been drinking the aletheros.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You can’t say anything but the truth. The aletheros won’t let you,” she insisted.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I thought that was metaphorical, or a deliberate ritual practice.”

“Ugh, I bet they didn’t translate it properly. The aletheros is not just a wine, it’s more like…. Truth serum.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said gravely. "I see." This certainly changed things— and explained something about the Ellenians' rather forthright expressions tonight.

“But it doesn’t work on you. Fascinating. I wonder if it’s working on Master Jinn. Let’s find out!”

“Wait! Phoebe, maybe I should talk to him first,” he protested, but she was already grabbing him by the hand and dragging him across the plaza.

“Obi-Wan! There you are,” Qui-Gon said with a wave, stepping out from his circle of attendants as they approached. 

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan said nervously. He still had to debrief with Qui-Gon about his unacceptable tardiness. 

“And Phoebe, is it? Senator Kassandra’s granddaughter?” 

“That’s right. Master Jinn, we were wondering if you have been affected by the aletheros. It seems that Obi-Wan is immune.”

“Immune?” Qui-Gon asked, eyes narrowed.

“Yes, apparently the aletheros would best be translated as ‘truth serum,’” Obi-Wan informed him.

Qui-Gon furrowed his brows as he hmmed and stroked his beard in thought. “I see. And that means?”

“You can only speak truth, and if asked a question directly, you have to answer honestly,” Phoebe explained. “For example, how did you like the coriander and licorice pastries?”

“I thought they were awful,” Qui-Gon replied matter-of-factly, and then froze in horror.

“Ugh. Thank you! But there, you see, I bet you never would have said that if you hadn’t drunk the aletheros.”

“No, I would have said they were very well made and that I hadn’t tasted anything like them before,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Right, and those things might be true, but they’re not your _truth_. That’s the effect of the aletheros.”

“Ah. So the drinker is compelled to speak truthfully, whether they want to or not. With the exception of Obi-Wan?”

“Well, we don’t know that,” Obi-Wan insisted. “Phoebe is inferring that on the basis of a rather—”

She raised another eyebrow at him. “Alright, fine. We’ll test it.” She swiped a low crystal glass from a nearby waiter. “Drink this. And then try to give a diplomatic answer.”

Obi-Wan sighed and swallowed the greenish-black liquid. Menthol and anise subsumed all his senses for a sharp moment. It was revolting. He coughed and sputtered and finally caught his breath.

“Delicious,” he lied through his teeth. 

“And there you have it!” Phoebe announced proudly.

“Fascinating,” Qui-Gon said. “Obi-Wan is as truthful a man as I have ever met. How did you determine that he wasn’t affected?”

“Another diplomatic dodge,” Phoebe said with a shrug, and Obi-Wan realized that he hadn’t once seen her drink from one of the silver cups. Perhaps her exuberance was all her own, or fuelled by regular intoxication. “The important question is why didn’t it work?”

“Knight Kenobi may have the rare genetic mutation,” Ianthe suggested, appearing at Qui-Gon’s side. “It happens sometimes that people aren’t affected. We call them Hecate’s beloveds, because they can keep their secrets like she hides in the dark of the moon. A thousand years ago, you might have been sacrificed,” she said with a slightly menacing smile. 

“Charming,” Obi-Wan said sourly. He squeezed his eyes shut against the stinging tears from the horrific liquor. 

“It seems our diplomatic paquet was lacking in an important detail,” Qui-Gon observed neutrally, though it was clear his mind was turning over the implications with some intensity.

“Phoebe, try not to poison our guests,” Aristeus said with a laugh as he joined their small circle. “Here you go, my boy,” he said, handing Obi-Wan a honeyed biscuit and a glass of water. “That should help. Lopa is not for the faint of heart.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan replied, gratefully sinking his teeth into the biscuit. 

“Obi-Wan is one of Hecate’s beloveds!” Ianthe announced to Aristeus. 

“Ah! Interesting. In Lacedea, we call them Children of Lethe, protected by her concealing shroud.” He turned to Obi-Wan and smiled reassuringly. “Well, then you shall have to keep all of our secrets for us, won’t you?” 

“I will do my best.”

“Excellent, now, I have it on good authority that the dancing is about to begin on the beach, and I would consider it a great diplomatic insult if you didn’t both join us,” he said, clapping both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan on the shoulders and nudging them both forward.

“Of course, Archon,” Qui-Gon said with a smile. “We’d be delighted. Well, _I’d_ be delighted. I can’t speak for Obi-Wan.”

“It’s a good thing that one of us enjoys dancing,” Obi-Wan quipped, marvelling a little at how he’d never actually known whether Qui-Gon liked dancing or if he just gave the appearance of enjoyment out of courtesy. 

Qui-Gon fell in step beside Obi-Wan as they followed Aristeus and Ianthe through the crowd, which was beginning to thin out as interested dancers made their way down towards the beach.

“How was your walk?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Good. But I lost track of time in the ocean.”

“Ah. I suspected as much. You weren’t too late?”

“About half an hour, I’m afraid.”

“No matter. Informality seems to be a hallmark of this festival. Better that you got a chance to clear your head.”

Obi-Wan winced. “Was I that bad?”

“I didn’t compare your mood to the horrible caff for nothing,” Qui-Gon said. “I am glad that you seem to be feeling better.”

Did he feel better? He could hardly tell. The evening had been a whirlwind so far and there were still a few hours to go. He was glad to have a moment with Qui-Gon, however awkward he now felt with the landmines of unabashed truth lying in wait.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked tentatively. 

“Yes, the Ellenians are very hospitable and interesting. I find the Living Force to be unusually refreshing here, despite the tangled negotiations. Sometimes I wonder if living in a beautiful place affects people more than we think.” He snorted. “It would explain the draining misery that is Coruscant.”

“Master!” Obi-Wan admonished, discomfited by Qui-Gon’s blunt indictment of their home and the centre of the Galactic Republic.

Qui-Gon gave a satisfied exhale. “Oh, I think I rather like this drink. I’m sorry that you seem to be immune.”

“I’m not!” Obi-Wan said, appalled at the idea of being forced to reveal his private thoughts to anyone who might ask.

“I can see how it may cause trouble, but look around,” Qui-Gon said, with a sweep of his arm. “Can you feel how connected the Ellenians are? The Atikans and Lacedeons are able to talk to each other with so much more depth. I look forward to seeing what tomorrow’s discussions are like.”

“That will be interesting, I’m sure,” Obi-Wan agreed. 

Qui-Gon chuckled to himself. “Can you imagine what Jedi Council meetings would be like?” His eyes flashed with mischief. 

“I—,” Obi-Wan stopped, shaking his head. “I don’t think I want to.”

“I would pay good money to hear Adi Gallia tell Yarael Poof what she really thinks about his sense of humour. Or see Mace Windu and Ki-Adi Mundi go head to head.”

“About what?”

“Anything! They’ve been in competition since we were crechlings, though they’d never admit it.”

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said honestly.

“Why would you? They excel at dressing it up as ‘informed debate.’” Qui-Gon sighed again. “Yes, I find this place very refreshing.”

“You aren’t concerned?” Obi-Wan asked, as he maneuvered around an outlying bush. The path down to the beach was erratically verdant. 

“We are here at the will of the Force, Obi-Wan. It is my role to embrace that. Perhaps there is something that needs to come to light. Who am I to stand in the way of that?”

“I hardly think that compelled honesty is a good way to go about it,” he said, perhaps a little too sharply.

“I suppose that depends on the truth. Some things might never otherwise be revealed.”

“Perhaps they should stay that way then,” Obi-Wan said, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“I am not so sure. It’s interesting, Ianthe was telling me that _aletheia_ literally means ‘unconcealed.’ It’s not merely about falsehood, but about the hidden.”

“As Jedi, we have to be selective about what we reveal all the time. You taught me that,” Obi-Wan said a measure of exasperation. 

“What if we lived in a world where that were not necessary?” Qui-Gon asked, tilting his gaze up to the sky where the first stars were winking into visibility.

Obi-Wan shook his head again. “I think there’s a reason why this festival is only thirty-six hours a year.”

“You’re right of course, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon admitted, a little defeated. “Still, it’s very freeing. Rather like the beaches in the Vekanda leisure colonies.”

“I think I’d much prefer physical nudity to psychological nakedness,” Obi-Wan replied, relieved that he did not have to choose between literal or figurative clothing. 

“I’m not surprised. You wear your privacy like a suit of plasteel armour these days,” Qui-Gon said with a regretful sigh. 

Obi-Wan flinched. “I mean no disrespect, master.”

“None taken, Obi-Wan. You do have every right. I just…well…” He paused by a towering palm tree and laid his hand on the bark. “I miss you, Obi-Wan. Every time we work together, you seem farther away.”

“Master, I…” Obi-Wan’s heart hammered in his chest as he swallowed. It was true, Obi-Wan felt it in his bones. And he knew why, but he had no solution. He stood frozen in indecision.

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Perhaps you are correct, that some things should be left unspoken.”

An awkward silence fell as they made their way down the torchlit path to the wooden terrace that had been constructed on top of the sand. Dancers had already begun to arrange themselves in rows under the light of twinkling orbs suspended from arches that stretched across the dance floor. 

Ianthe caught Qui-Gon’s eye and waved from where she was conferring with the dance caller.

Against his better judgement, Obi-Wan broke the silence with a fraught observation. “Ianthe is very beautiful." He both did and did not want to know what Qui-Gon thought of his most assertive pursuer.

“Yes, she is,” Qui-Gon agreed, with an odd solemnity.

“You are aware that she, and a not-insignificant percentage of this party, are competing for your bed tonight,” Obi-Wan said, doing his best to keep bitterness from his voice.

Qui-Gon snorted. “Yes, drink does not make anyone very subtle, truth serum or no.”

“It’s not just tonight.”

“I know.”

“You never said anything.”

“There’s nothing to say. Everyone is entitled to their feelings. I won’t embarrass them.”

“Hmm.”

“Jealousy does not become you, Obi-Wan,’ Qui-Gon said with a frown.

“Jealousy?” he said carefully, quelling a wave of dread that Qui-Gon had discerned the real reason for his inquiry.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’ve had your share of interest. All week, I have watched Ellenians try to get your attention, and yet you seem completely oblivious, and now for some reason you begrudge me?”

“I don’t begrudge you, Qui-Gon. I am merely….” He searched in vain for the right word, painstakingly aware of how much he _did_ begrudge Qui-Gon, but not for the reason Qui-Gon surmised.

“Yes?” Qui-Gon prompted.

“Uncomfortable,” Obi-Wan admitted. 

“It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken of such things, and I am no longer your master, but I would caution you from closing yourself off to such a powerful aspect of the Living Force,” Qui-Gon advised.

Obi-Wan blinked. “Are you saying I should….?” Force, he couldn’t even say it. Leave it to Qui-Gon to turn a discussion about sexual interest into a lesson about the Living Force.

“There is more to life than duty, Obi-Wan. You are a young man. You won’t lack for partners. Enjoy yourself. Live in the moment. There will always be more duty to worry about tomorrow.”

It would have been distressing to hear Qui-Gon encouraging him to sleep with someone else at any time, but the addition of the aletheros made it especially crushing. Part of him wanted to ask if Qui-Gon was planning on reciprocating Ianthe’s interest, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t want to know. And yet, it seemed he had his answer already. His heart plummeted and the tiny spark of hope that he kept buried in the deepest corner of his heart flickered and winked out. He might have staggered were they not already standing still. 

Qui-Gon laid a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and smiled at him. They were so close that Obi-Wan could smell the oleander blossoms and see the seed pearls stitched into the silver meander border along Qui-Gon’s neckline. His blue eyes were brilliant in the torch light.

Why did his master have to be so handsome it was almost physically painful to look at him? His heart sank further, but he forced himself to breathe as he looked past Qui-Gon to the indigo waves and the faint grey light that marked the horizon.

He almost missed Aristeus’ words to Qui-Gon. 

“He is beautiful, isn’t he?”

Qui-Gon swallowed and a shadow passed over his face. “He is.” He nodded at Obi-Wan. “Have a good night, Obi-Wan,” he said, without meeting his eyes. 

And Obi-Wan stood stunned as he watched Qui-Gon take Ianthe’s hand and line up to dance.

It took him several moments to realize that Aristeus was still standing there, looking at him with a wistful expression on his face. 

“Would you join me?” Aristeus asked, offering his hand.

Obi-Wan swallowed. He didn’t feel like dancing. He didn’t feel like anything. He wanted to disappear into the shadows and slink back to his room and cry. But his presence would certainly be missed if he left now.

“I’m sure the dance steps will be nothing compared to your lightsaber moves,” Aristeus added with a smile.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and pushed his disappointment and hurt down and down, until he managed to squeeze them into the smallest box and hide it away for some time when he could be truly alone. 

He took Aristeus’ hand. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” he said, flashing a grin that Lethe herself would have been proud of.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOUUUUUU so much to Tohje for your wise insights, your feedback and your delight!  
> To TeaRex for your thoughts and enthusiasm and cheering me on!  
> To acatbyanyothername for your keen observations, detailed commentary and endless enthusiasm!

The _Ellenike_ , Obi-Wan discovered, was unlike any dance he'd experienced before. It was more fluid than the stately ballroom dances of diplomatic summits and royal celebrations, which demanded a certain rigidity and poise, yet more contained than the chaotic and impulsive free form found in the clubs and bars of Coruscant, Corellia, and beyond. The partnered dance of the Ellenians had a structure, but ample space for personal flourishes. There was something steady but wild about it, like a pulse, or tide. 

As he spun and dipped and hopped across the dance floor in the elaborate sequences with Aristeus as a competent lead, he found he had little time to contemplate Qui-Gon's words, nor dwell on the delicate way his master twirled Ianthe in his arms, or the warmth that shone in his eyes for another. The steps were complex enough that Obi-Wan had to pay attention to Aristeus’ instructions, but not so complicated that he couldn’t pick them up after a round or two. How Qui-Gon was leading already was beyond him, but then again, his master was no stranger to throwing himself headlong into the unknown with absurd levels of confidence.

At first, Obi-Wan gave himself over to the present moment with a kind of resentful submission he remembered from his surlier moments as a padawan. But he found, as he had many times in the past, that what started as passive aggressive compliance morphed into genuine relief. 

The physical contact with Aristeus was rather pleasant. There was something very grounding about his presence and Aristeus was stronger than he expected. His hands were not soft politician hands, but held the roughness of his warrior past, which he had not entirely abandoned based on the facility with which he moved Obi-Wan across the dance floor.

They spoke of simple things. Aristeus told him the story of how the palace was built on the ruins of an ancient temple, why the sea was called the Aegin, how the aletheros was made, and, quieter, humbler things: his joy of horse racing along the beach, stealing grapes from the neighbouring farm as a boy, his mother's recipe for lemon custard, how he taught his dog to sit.

Obi-Wan smiled and listened, grateful for the reassuring timbre of his voice, the vibration that Obi-Wan could feel when the music slowed and Aristeus pressed them chest to chest. 

Obi-Wan shared small details of his life growing up: games with Bant and Garen, his delight in friendly duelling and his dislike of flying. He spoke about the bland food at the Temple and his favorite tree in the Room of a Thousand Fountains and the time that someone has snuck a litter of tooka kittens and their beleaguered mother into the gardens. 

He didn't mention Qui-Gon and Aristeus, to his credit, didn't ask. 

At one point, after Obi-Wan followed his direction to spin, Aristeus gripped Obi-Wan’s waist with both hands and whispered “jump” with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye. Obi-Wan found himself lifted clear off the floor for an entire spin. He laughed in surprise and Aristeus laughed too and Obi-Wan felt something release in his chest. He let the laughter bubble through him like fizzy wine, carrying a lightness and freshness with it. He dropped deeper into the moment then, suddenly able to smell the ocean, the wine on Aristeus’ breath, sweat mingled with floral scents. The elation of the dancers and musicians swirled powerfully in the Force and Obi-Wan opened himself up just enough to taste the energy and found he had a choice: he could let himself feel something here, join the pulse and sway, squeeze Aristeus’ hand back and lean into his touch, or he could retreat and close again.

Part of him wanted to look for Qui-Gon, to see how the festival, the alcohol, the dance were affecting him, what he was doing with Ianthe, and he knew whatever he saw would hurt, and Qui-Gon would be right: he would be begrudging his master pleasure and joy, however fleeting.  


That was an ugly thought in this place of beauty and would only take him further into anger and jealousy and despair. 

_I need to make my peace with this_ , he told himself. _I need to forgive him for not wanting me. And forgive myself for wanting._

He closed his eyes and stilled in Aristeus’ arms for a moment, felt his hand on his waist, the heat seeping through the silk in the warm night, felt the strength in the hand in his, pressed his feet to the floor and felt the tiny points where the the sandal straps bit into his flesh, the reverberations of the wood as other dancers’ feet pounded the dance floor.

When he opened his eyes, Aristeus was patiently regarding him. 

“I fear it would be selfish, if I accepted what you are offering,” Obi-Wan said, relieved to voice his reservations. 

Aristeus smiled, his grey eyes regal and intent. “Master Jedi, I am not under any illusions as to what we might be doing, but I feel moved, and I feel you drawn, and I think, if I could give this lonely young man some respite, I would be doing the goddess’ work.”

It was hard to hold Aristeus’ piercing gaze, and harder still to feel the ache in his chest at the word ‘lonely.’ How was it that this man could read what he managed to conceal from everyone, even Qui-Gon? 

“But, I am distracted by desire for another,” Obi-Wan said carefully, willing his eyes not to flick in Qui-Gon’s direction. He was committed to keeping his secret, even if it was more of a pretence than he wanted to admit. 

Aristeus’ expression softened for a moment as he gave him a knowing nod, and after a solemn beat, he cast him a mischievous smile. Sliding his hand down to the small of Obi-Wan’s back, he pulled Obi-Wan closer and whispered in his ear. “I daresay, I don’t think you would be distracted for long.”

Liquid heat pooled low in Obi-Wan’s belly and his mouth went dry as he realized that part of him very much wanted what Aristeus was offering. Perhaps this would be a cure for his relentless desire. Aristeus looked more like Qui-Gon than anyone else who had ever asked or offered. He was a strikingly handsome man, strong jaw and high cheekbones. Not quite as tall (no one was —probably one of the reasons Qui-Gon was so admired on Ellenia), but as broad shouldered, and maybe even a bit more muscled. Above all, he had eyes that were as kind as they were keen. Strange, for a politician’s wit to have not rendered him calculating or cruel. 

He was in the midst of deciding whether to accept when the song ended. Aristeus took both his hands in his and bowed deeply.

“My thanks for the dances, young Jedi.”

Obi-Wan bowed too and mumbled a thank you.

When their eyes met again, Aristeus gave him a long, dark look, full of lust. “Let me take the young god of wine to my bed, when he has been woken inside you.”

Obi-Wan flushed deeply and nodded, his voice caught in his throat. 

“I must attend to the fire. Come and find me. When you are ready,” Aristeus said with a gentle smile. 

And with that, Obi-Wan found himself standing alone at the edge of the dance floor. He ducked off quickly, before anyone else could ask him to dance. 

“Obi-Wan!” Phoebe shouted, waving him over to the cluster of refreshment tables that seemed to have migrated from the celebrations at the palace. She was standing with a tall, broad shouldered woman with an asymmetrical haircut and a shimmering black garment that at first glance appeared to be a dress, but was in fact a jumpsuit of some kind. 

“This is Chara!” she said excitedly. 

Obi-Wan offered a short bow. “Nice to meet you. I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“I know,” Chara said matter of factly. She smirked. “Phoebe hasn’t talked about anything else for the last hour. I hear you’re immune to the aletheros.” 

“So it seems,” he said, accepting a cup of something from Phoebe. He looked down suspiciously. “This isn’t lopa, is it?”

“Hell no! You’ll like this,” she assured him.

“What is it?” he asked warily.

“Wine,” she said, popping a piece of fruit into her mouth and turning to examine the laden table for another.

“Wine?”

“Yup! Plain, old, simple, reliable, wine,” Phoebe said grinning and taking a sip.

“Hey, go easy there, babe,” Chara said, catching Phoebe about the waist as she wavered.

Obi-Wan smiled and took a sip. It was, in fact, wine. White wine. Crisp, cool, neither sweet nor dry. In all respects, unremarkable and yet delicious, especially after his exertions on the dance floor. He took a longer draught and let the warm buzz seep into his veins. He didn’t often indulge in alcohol but this evening was proving to be a strange mix of trying, bewildering and appealing. He thought about Aristeus’ smile, the heat of his hands and strength of his shoulders. 

“Now that’s more like it,” Phoebe laughed and refilled his glass. “You must be thirsty after all that dancing,” she said teasingly. 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t tease the Jedi, Phoebe! Look, he’s turning pink,” Chara admonished lightly.

Obi-Wan schooled his face. “It’s the wine, I assure you.”

“Uh huh,” Phoebe grinned. “Well, for what it’s worth, they say the best way to get over someone is to get _under_ someone else.”

Obi-Wan choked on his drink and failed to hide his truly scandalized expression as he coughed. 

Chara’s face had twisted into an alarmed grimace. 

“I beg your pardon,” he sputtered.

“Sorry, sorry!” Phoebe pleaded. “I got carried away! It’s the aletheros!”

“That would be a fine excuse if you were actually drinking it!” Obi-Wan snapped. 

“Okay, okay, you caught me,” she admitted. “I can’t stand it. I get into enough trouble with wine as it is.”

“You can say that again,” Chara said, facepalming. 

Obi-Wan huffed and straightened his chiton self-consciously. They stood there awkwardly for a few painful minutes until Obi-Wan had the good sense to ask about the fire Aristeus had mentioned.

Fortunately, Chara was as passionate about ancient Ellenian tradition and myth as Phoebe was about water conservation. The fire, he learned quickly, was a large bonfire on the beach some distance from the dance floor. Tradition held that it was ceremonially lit by performers representing the ancient pantheon. Aristeus, Ianthe and several senators, fulfilling the role of village elders, would don colourful masks and re-enact a short scene from myth before lighting the pyre of aletheros and olive wood gathered during the fall equinox. 

The three of them drifted over to the unlit pyre encircled by torches and the gathering crowd as Chara talked and Phoebe giggled. Behind them the dance floor continued to vibrate, the music drifting over the beach and mingling with the sounds of the waves. The sand was cool under Obi-Wan’s sandals and the wine was making his limbs fuzzy. The moon was a bright white orb in the indigo sky, reflecting on the ocean. As they reached the circle of onlookers, he caught Aristeus’ eyes as the older man donned his the silver and gold mask of Zeus and was rewarded with a bright smile. 

“Curse it,” Ianthe exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Alcibiades is too drunk. Again. We will need another Ares.”

“Ask the Jedi!” someone shouted. Several shouts and cheers rose up in affirmation. 

Obi-Wan stiffened in alarm—the last thing he wanted was to be put on display in such a fashion, especially after several cups of wine. Fortunately, it was almost immediately apparent that no one was talking about him. The second Qui-Gon stepped into the torchlight, the shouting grew louder. Qui-Gon smiled beneficently at the crowd and held up his hands in a quieting motion before gliding to Ianthe’s side.

Obi-Wan noticed both that he had managed to _not_ think about Qui-Gon for nearly an hour and that Qui-Gon looked awfully comfortable as Ianthe took his hand and drew him into the half circle of performers. He was flushed and laughing, his long limbs languid with wine. 

She placed the elaborate red mask on Qui-Gon’s face before fixing her own mask.

“Who is Ianthe playing?” Obi-Wan asked, trying to sound relaxed as his stomach tied itself in a knot. He had a bad feeling about this.

“The goddess of love, Aphrodite,” Chara answered.

“She’s married to the smith god, yes?”

“Yeah, but she sleeps with Ares behind his back. A lot,” Phoebe added. She gave him a worried glance and patted his shoulder. “You might want to skip this, Obi-Wan.”

“Why?”

Chara looked curiously at the both of them, before something clicked. She made a silent “oh” as her brows furrowed. “So every year, they chose a myth about discovery or truthtelling, and this year, it’s the ‘discovery of the lovers,’” she said carefully.

“How much do they act out?” Obi-Wan said nervously.

“It’s more of a tableau, really,” Phoebe tried to reassure him as they watched zealous helpers arrange Qui-Gon and Ianthe in position. 

Qui-Gon was settled on a large stone slab while Ianthe enthusiastically draped herself across his lap. There were whoops of laughter and clapping as the other performers arranged the two in an increasingly lewd posture. Ianthe shifted to face Qui-Gon and slipped a leg around his waist as Qui-Gon’s hand was guided down until he was nearly gripping her ass. A golden net was wrapped around them.

“Where were the lovers discovered?” Obi-Wan asked, voice tight, eyes fixated on Qui-Gon’s hands pressing against Ianthe’s body. Was Qui-Gon enjoying this? Would he have to include this in his mission report? He thanked the Force that Qui-Gon was wearing a mask. He could almost pretend it wasn’t his master with an eager woman squirming in his lap while onlookers made rude comments.

“In... Bed. Yeah. In bed,” Phoebe said with a grimace.

“I see.”

“You know, I’ve seen this a million times. Why don’t we go find Clio and Philip?” 

“It’s quite alright,” Obi-Wan assured her, as his gut squirmed with warning. He drained the rest of his wine and took a deep breath.

Before long, the thirteen gods were arranged in the scene of catching Aphrodite and Ares in her marriage bed. Each performer recited their poetic couplets before adding their symbolic ingredients to the pyre—different kinds of wood, flowers, dried fruits, wheat and at last, olive oil and aletheros wine from Hera, played by the regal Kassandra, and Aristeus as Zeus. With a torch in the shape of a golden thunderbolt, Aristeus lit the pyre at last. The conflagration caught with roar as the crowd cheered. 

Obi-Wan could have looked away then, lost himself in the buzz of conversation, turned to greet Phoebe and Chara’s friends, who had arrived with more to drink and blankets for sitting by the fire. But as they set up their little patch of beach, Obi-Wan stood and watched, breathless, as Qui-Gon removed his mask and then Ianthe’s and leaned down to kiss her, hands sliding up her body, thumb grazing her breast. She arched against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

It hurt worse than Obi-Wan had expected, seeing Qui-Gon kiss someone else. It felt like being punched under the ribs and slapped across the face at the same time. And worst of all, Force help him, it was also intensely erotic to see Qui-Gon like this, to imagine he was the one in his master’s arms, his master’s fingers pressing against his skin through cool silk. He wanted to be the one reaching up to stroke the hair at Qui-Gon’s temples as he slipped his tongue between Qui-Gon’s lips. Half hard and heartbroken, he gratefully sank to the blankets when Phoebe tugged his hand. 

She bumped his shoulder affectionately. “Don’t worry, Obi-Wan. It doesn’t stay this bad. Trust me.”

There was a gravity in her voice that surprised him. She was speaking from experience, no doubt, with a world-weariness that he recognized. He felt disturbingly out of his depth as she smiled at him and refilled his cup. “Drink that. It’ll help. Well, at least in the meantime. You might feel worse tomorrow…”

How strange, this young woman, who by all accounts had never left her own star system, seemed to have so much more experience in matters of the heart than a Jedi who had travelled the length and breadth of the galaxy.

Perhaps this is what Qui-Gon meant about cutting himself off from the Living Force. How could he understand the people he was meant to protect if he didn’t know what their lives were like? It was like discovering he’d neglected to exercise a muscle group and the ensuing particular weakness caused his form to collapse. 

“Will you tell me about it?” he heard himself ask. 

Her eyebrows jumped and she blushed. “ Are you sure? I mean, it’s not as interesting as water filtration systems.”

A pained laugh escaped him. “I think that’s probably not true.”

Her brows narrowed as she searched his face. “You’re serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“It’s hardly a matter of galactic importance.”

“That’s good, because I think I might be drunk,” Obi-Wan, intending it as a joke and then realizing it might just be true. 

She snorted. “Well, alright then. Let me tell you about Thera. She was an upperclassman when I was a junior. She ran our Model Assembly and she was brilliant and funny and an amazing speaker.”

“And a selfish jerk,” Philip interjected. He was a friend of Phoebe’s from university, Obi-Wan learned shortly.

Phoebe proceeded to tell him of her years-long crush and ill fated courtship with Thera and the months of heartbreak after they parted ways. Philip shared the story of his unrequited love for his childhood best friend. Clio, a friend of Chara’s from her hometown in the north, was presently in a state of misery over their long distance relationship. Chara had a harrowing story of having an affair with one of her married professors. Each of his companions seemed to have a story, indeed multiple stories, of hardship owing to romantic matters. They asked Obi-Wan for his experiences, and he was embarrassed that he had little to share beyond the painful process of refusing Garen, and Siri years before that. He had hooked up with Quinlan a few times in the last few years, blowing off steam after particularly high adrenaline missions. But he and Quinlan felt only friendship for each other. It wasn’t messy.

“That’s the _best_ ,” Clio declared. “None of this silly _feelings_ business.”

“You won’t feel that way when Andraste comes home,” Chara assured them. 

Clio grumbled in agreement and leaned into their friend’s shoulder. 

“Wait, so you’ve never been in love?” Philip asked him.

Obi-Wan caught Phoebe’s eyes as he settled on a half-truth. “I don’t know. Jedi aren’t supposed to fall in love. Ideally. Many do. It’s not precisely forbidden, just strongly discouraged. Nothing can come before our duty.”

“You know, the ancient Lacedeons used to encourage relationships between warriors, so they would be encouraged to fulfill their duty,” Chara said.

“How so?” Obi-Wan asked.

“They reasoned that people would fight harder to protect their lovers.”

In his mind’s eye, Obi-Wan saw a flash of the worst moment of his life, when Maul had nearly impaled Qui-Gon on Naboo. He still didn’t know how he’d found the strength and speed to get to Qui-Gon’s side and interrupt the blow. He sighed heavily.

“They’re right,” he said softly, staring into his empty cup.

“That sounds like a yes, my friend,” Chara said, clinking his cup before draining hers.

He nodded. He fell silent after that and watched and listened to the group of friends chatter and laugh and tease and drink. Crowded onto the blankets as they were, his knees and shoulders inevitably settled against Phoebe’s on the one side and Philip on the other. It should have unnerved him, casual touching with people he barely knew, but it didn’t. Instead, he felt part of a group in a way he hadn’t in ages. Maybe this kind of simple camaraderie would have been part of his world now if he’d been born without the Force? Maybe he would feel less awkward and disconnected from other sentients. It was no wonder that he and Quinlan fell into bed—contact with another body was so rare in his life now. He’d never realized how physically affectionate Qui-Gon was until after his knighthood and he was paired with other mission partners. Come to think of it, Qui-Gon had almost entirely stopped touching him in their last few missions—even his characteristic shoulder touches were absent. Strange. The observation left him feeling a bit cold.

“You’re thinking too hard, Obi-Wan,” Phoebe teased, startling Obi-Wan out of his musings.

“You know what I think, I think it’s time to go swimming!” Philip announced, stumbling to his feet.

Obi-Wan leapt to his feet to catch him. “I think staying on solid ground might be safer.”

“Yeah, the first rule of partying is ‘no dying’,” Clio declared, standing. “I think it might be bedtime.”

“So early?” Phoebe complained.

Clio laughed. “It’s not early! It’s past midnight.”

“You know on Zabii they don’t even start partying until at least an hour from now,” Phoebe protested.

“Yeah, yeah. But I’m not as young as I used to be,” Clio answered. 

“Oh yes, the _ancient_ age of twenty eight,” Philip laughed, swaying against Obi-Wan. 

“Twenty-nine in three days!” they protested.

“You know what, Jedi?” Philip asked, turning to face him as he threw an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. His voice was suddenly serious. 

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, brows furrowed.

“You’re really kriffing hot!” 

Obi-Wan laughed in surprise.

“Oh my god, Philip! It is definitely bed time!” Clio squealed, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him out of Obi-Wan’s arms.

“What! He is! Have you seen his biceps?”

Clio blushed. “Yes, I have and you don’t see me throwing myself at him.”

“I’m not! I’m just _observing_ ,” Philip protested. 

“Thank you?” Obi-Wan replied.

“Never mind him. You’ve got a silver fox to catch,” Phoebe said. She had pulled herself to her feet and was helping Chara with the blanket and drinking cups. She thrust her chin in the direction of the ocean, where Aristeus was standing, drinking and talking with a cluster of people.

The moon was high in the sky now, arching past its zenith. It was late, or early, depending on one's perspective. He took two steps forward and paused, trying to contact that shimmering feeling of opening he had felt earlier when dancing with Aristeus. He felt closed and withdrawn again. Despair creeped under his skin. 

He looked at Phoebe and Chara, laughing together, sharing soft touches and playful smiles. He could have that. Not with Qui-Gon. Not for his life. But for tonight.

He thought about Aristeus’ words. _I feel moved, and I feel you drawn, and I think, if I could give this lonely young man some respite, I would be doing the goddess’ work._

He never wanted to admit that he needed _respite_. Respite from what? His duty? The galaxy? His own isolation?

His feelings about Qui-Gon?

 _Your focus determines your reality,_ Qui-Gon’s mantra echoed in his mind.

Maybe it was time he shifted his focus.

He turned to the group of friends and offered them his sincere thanks and wished them good night and an easy morning. There was a surprising amount of hugging for their short acquaintance, but Obi-Wan found he didn't mind. In fact, his heart felt oddly full as he crossed the beach.

Aristeus was waiting. At first glance, he appeared to be merely watching the ocean after his companions had left, but the shifting of his stance and tightness of the clasp of his hands behind his back betrayed him.

He sidled up to Aristeus, close enough for their shoulders to touch. They stood there for a moment, the wind and waves whispering possibility. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and willed the churning in his gut to still. 

"I don't know where the god of wine might be, but if you'll settle for a tipsy Jedi, I might know one who would enjoy another dance."

Aristeus laughed brightly, a musical sound, part joy, part nervous relief. “I would be honoured,” he said a little reverently as he turned to face Obi-Wan, arms open.

Obi-Wan stepped into his arms and met Aristeus’ dark gaze with a look of naked desire. Aristeus shuddered and drew in sharp breath as Obi-Wan cupped the back of his neck and drew him into a heated kiss.

They made their way back to Aristeus' rooms, holding hands through the cavernous hallways of the slumbering palace with nervous laughter and sly glances.

Obi-Wan felt more than drunk, like a strange buoyant happiness had snuck into his chest. Kissing his soon-to-be lover freely, without fear or guilt or concern for tomorrow. It was intoxicating. 

They collapsed onto a magnificently large bed, whereupon Aristeus stripped them of their shimmering garments in between achingly sweet kisses. Everything Aristeus did had a kind of gravitas, even his unabashed delight in running his hands over Obi-Wan's skin. He kissed his way from Obi-Wan's neck down his chest and belly to his groin, where his cock throbbed and strained for more contact. He gripped the bedsheets and bucked under Aristeus, brushing his cock against his chest.

"Patience, my young Jedi," Aristeus chided, breath hot on Obi-Wan's weeping tip.

Obi-Wan cursed loudly and effusively when Aristeus swallowed him whole. He sucked and licked and swirled his tongue and brought Obi-Wan to a teetering edge before clamping one hand on his hip and pinching a swollen nipple with the other and pulling back just enough to blow on the sensitive head. He called Aristeus' name then and thrust upwards in vain. Aristeus was too strong and held him fast while casting him a bemused grin. 

Obi-Wan squirmed and felt a feverish satisfaction spread through him at the sensation of being held down. 

"Ah, I thought so," Aristeus said, pleased at what he saw on Obi-Wan's face. 

"Please," Obi-Wan groaned.

Aristeus smiled beatifically and nodded almost solemnly before swallowing him again and sucking him into a shattering orgasm.

When he came back to himself, he pulled Aristeus up to kiss him, marvelling at the taste of himself on Aristeus' lips and then rolling them over so he could explore Aristeus' body in turn.

They lost themselves in each other for what seemed like hours. Aristeus was even more striking naked, with dark hair covering impressive muscles and a beautiful, thick cock.

He was a generous and affectionate lover, whispering endearments, openly in awe of Obi-Wan. It was so different than the needful clash of bodies he'd experienced with Quinlan. 

He'd never felt _treasured_ before—at least not in bed. 

Accustomed to the—if not coldness, certainly detachedness—of his encounters with his fellow Jedi, he was surprised when Aristeus turned him around to face him as he entered him. 

He always enjoyed being opened up and filled, the delicious stretch and deep pressure was as physically pleasurable as it usually was, but there was some new intensity here. He felt a warmth and a tightness in his chest, an ache of affection and care that went beyond desire. He felt _close_ to Aristeus as he welcomed him inside, thrust his hips up to meet his and seized his mouth in a biting kiss.

After, when they were both wrung out and spent, Aristeus gathered Obi-Wan against his chest, curled his arm around him and stroked his hair. 

"My only regret," Aristeus rumbled, "is that the night is nearly over."

Obi-Wan hummed in genuine assent, throat suddenly tight. The ache in his chest had gotten stronger and he found himself wondering how it was that he could feel this way about someone he knew so little.

"I wish I could take you to my home in the country. We have a villa there, my family and I. Columns of cyprus trees frame terracotta roofs and green pastures. There are cattle and goats and chickens. Olive groves and orange trees. If we were waking up there, I would grind fresh kaff and make omelets and we would breakfast until the sun was high in the sky. Then I would take you riding through the pine forest to the beach. It's wilder there and the water is as bright and clear as your eyes."

Obi-Wan felt tears prick the corner of his eyes. "I would like that," he whispered. And then he heard Aristeus say something he had never dreamed he would hear.

"I know you bear your burden lightly, but if it ever gets too heavy, if you ever need a break, or a place, you would always be welcome in my home, Obi-Wan."

His tears found their release before he even perceived the gratitude cracking open his chest. The Jedi Order was his whole life. He knew no other home, nor did he want one. Yet a weird relief coursed through him, and settled in his heart. Aristeus was sincere—and he would have been even without the aletheros, Obi-Wan knew. To know there was somewhere he could go was a comfort he couldn't have envisioned needing. He took it in slowly, savoring it like the taste of wine or salt air or Aristeus' skin.

He let himself imagine, just for a moment, another life where he and Aristeus found a simple peace together on that stretch of the sundrenched earth by the sea.

"Thank you," he murmured, and kissed the space above Aristeus' heart. "It's a gift I cannot return," he said sadly. 

"That's the thing about gifts, true ones are not to be returned," Aristeus said with a wistful smile before arching down to kiss Obi-Wan. "We should sleep now, my dear Obi-Wan, for the larks are already announcing dawn."

Sure enough, outside the sky was lightening and the chirps and trills of birdsong were lilting through the window. 

He drifted asleep in Aristeus' arms, sated and grateful, with a feeling of wholeness and groundedness as if from a deep meditation. He dreamt of orange trees and golden beaches and flowers in Aristeus' hair.


End file.
